temporarily Untitled
by Agent Midnight
Summary: Something I'm trying out. It'll have a title once I think of one. *wince* POV (Duo), AU. warnings will change with the parts.
1. Default Chapter

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the intoxicating heat surrounding me as I stood outside on cold concrete, my gaze frozen on a brick house that looked completely opposite from what my childhood house actually was. The curtains fluttered wildly through open windows as air I didn't feel was pushed through to the inside of the house.   
  
Every light was off except for the one on the porch, which wasn't needed anyway because of the dull sun glaring at the Earth from it high position in the sky. The streets were silent and void of all cars, no people walking on the sidewalks, except for myself, and no animal roaming across the perfect grass, not even a squirrel.  
  
There were no birds flying around, caressing the world with their chirping songs of Spring, no. There weren't even the sounds of leaves blowing across lawns as a morning wind picked up. The only sound I really noticed was the quiet huff of my breathing, and when I walked, the soft steps of my shoes against smooth pavement.  
  
Until I got here, I never realized how much noise was in the world I... once... lived in.  
  
This was four days ago.  
  
How did I get here?  
  
I can't help much by explaining where I am because I don't even know. People wouldn't take it too well if I told them that what I do know is that one day I woke up in this place and never found out how I got here. There was no warning to wake up and pack from my missing parents, and no phone call from my friends. I just went to bed one night and opened my eyes the next morning in a different bed... in a different house, alone.  
  
If I had people to tell, I would tell them, believe me.  
  
This town is deserted as far as I can tell, has been for a while, but every now and then my hopes are falsely raised by a ghost of a voice dancing across the air to rush passed my ears in a delicate whisper. I've heard numerous voices in the few days I've been here, but they're all different. It's not just a voice of a man saying the weather's good, and it's not just a voice of a woman laughing. It's men and women, children, and sometimes I hear the barking of a dog.  
  
The first time I heard these voices, I would run to try and find them. My voice would be the only thing blending into the silence as I would scream for them to help me, to tell me where I am. The women laughed and giggled, the man loudly talked of fishing and cars, but in the long run, their voices would fade easily into nothing like that was the way it was meant to be.  
  
The telephones in the house I woke up in don't work, all of them plugged into the walls but not even uttering a buzzing sound when you pull them off the cradle. The television flicks on and off, and for a brief moment, you see flashes of a news resporter or a sitcom until they fade into nothing, as well.  
  
The fridge was empty that first night, my stomach rumbling the only reason why I had checked in the first place. The cabinets were bare and free of anything except dust. My hunger had faded into a dull ache in the morning of the second day, my fear of leaving the quiet house settling over the hunger to make it the first priority. I had stared at the baige walls of my perfect house from about 5:00 that afternoon to about 3:00 in the morning, when sleep claimed me on the hard couch in what was supposed to be the living room.  
  
All around the perfect house were empty picture frames hanging along every wall of every room. They were all black with a shiny finish, but no two were exactly the same size. I saw some frames that were poster size, up, and then I saw some that were wallet size, down. All sizes, no pictures.  
  
The fear was replaced by dull numbness after the second night's sleep.  
  
The third and fourth night were spent exploring the empty town, searching for any kinds of life except for the trees and the green, perfectly cut grass. Every blade seemed to be exactly one inch from the ground to the tip, not ranging very far from that size.  
  
All the other houses were cold and dead to the outside world, and I was sure at the time as I'm sure now that they were dead on the inside, too.  
  
A rocking chair four houses down from mine and across the street has a wooden rocking chair on the porch that always sways, creaking quietly with its movement. Sometimes I go sit by the chair and just listen to the sounds it makes. It's sad to think of a rocking chair as being loud, but...  
  
... it's sound I needed to hear, and it's sound I got.  
  
On the fifth day, I stood outside.  
  
A red ball silently floated down the street in wide archs as it thumped against the perfect concrete. It continued on, thrown by some unfelt wind, to pass my position on the roadside curb. The journey was over as it slammed into a mailbox, rolling back towards me with agonizing slowness. I never would have thought of a childish toy appearing to be so menacing before, and I found myself next to it, my foot moving back for a swinging kick.  
  
"My ball!"  
  
The distance in those words triggered something in my mind. With a choked-off scream, I sent the ball flying down the street, my heart slamming and frustrated tears springing to my cloudy eyes.  
  
Stuff like that happened a lot my first days here.  
  
Where the Hell am I?  
  
It's one question of many that I've asked myself, but I don't get closer to answering as time progresses. It's one question of many that I want answered, but now I don't find it necessary to get answered.  
  
On that fifth day, I went to the place where I had been getting all my food: the gas station six blocks away from my house. 


	2. Chapter One

After eating some packaged food off the shelves of the unopened gas station, I was originally intending to go back to my house and suffer through another painfully silent night, but instead I went back to the gas station's side to study the building there.  
  
The door of the small, run-down gas station restaraunt was wide open when I turned towards it again, the chain and padlock that had secured the door so tightly before now resting in shambles on the small walkway below, acting as a doorstop. I had to cross over a gas hose loose from its holder on the pump, it stretched out like a snake across the parking lot. At the end by the nozzle, small droplets of gasoline fell to the scorching concrete, a puddle already formed from time alone.  
  
My shoes were the only sound in the whole area as I slowly moved around cardboard boxes and soup cans, my destination being the dark restaurant that was locked no longer than fifteen minutes prior. Thick heat joined my silence as I pulled the door open, taking a few steps into the building before turning and making sure the door stayed open with the help of the rusted padlock. After carefully assuring that I wouldn't be locked in a building full of glass windows, which I scolded myself about afterwards, I turned on my heel and stared around the room.  
  
Why had I wanted to come here anyway?  
  
When I was preparing myself to go explore, the lights exploded on everywhere and shoved the darkness away, leaving me standing in a deserted room next to a red-covered booth. The ceiling fan, having been so silent a moment ago, swished on the fastest speed, sending cool air down to caress my scorching skin.   
  
A loud metal rattling come from the section separating the front desk from the cooking area, my eyes seeking out the spinning receipt stand. Paper fluttered on the small clips as it lightly spun around in circles, mirroring the ceiling fan.  
  
I got over my brief period of shock and went to the receipt stand, snatching one of the spinning papers and turning it over to see what it said, if anything. The blank piece of rectuangular-shaped paper slipped from between my fingers and made a fluttering dance towards the tiled floor, settling on a black square.  
  
"Your order?"  
  
The room was still empty, and I knew this well enough to not get scared like I had the last time. My mind wouldn't settle down until I gave a quick once-over across the booths and tables, however. I flicked my gaze across torn upholstery and chairs resting on their sides, finally sliding across a dusty counter to a couple of stacked plates on one of the still-standing tables. Said table's leg looked just about ready to tip itself off, and when this happened, all that cheap diningware would join the rest of the shit on the flooring.  
  
"How's the soup?"  
  
Behind the counter, the cash register was upside down on the ground with its door open, nothing inside but moth balls and dust bunnies. A couple of buttons were strewn about like confetti at a party; a "4" next to the wall, a "1" next to the swinging kitchen door, the "7" button was on top of the counter itself. All these small hints at something that I don't understand, but choose to ignore it anyway as I walk to the gray doors leading to the kitchen.  
  
"Ice water, please."  
  
The long slate of a stove had three spatulas on top of its grease-covered surface, the grease itself making a long white tablecloth for the metal. When I picked up one rusted spatula and ran it across the top of the stove, the dried grease bunched up and slid along with it easily. To fill the silence, I dropped the spatula and let it clamber on the stove, the echo sating my tired mind for a couple of blissful moments.  
  
I was about to move off to the freezer when I heard the distinct sound of the doors swishing open and bobbing back and forth as they swung on their hinges.  
  
"What are you doing? No one is supposed to be in the kitchen... how did you get back here?"  
  
Pulse quickening and heart slamming across the front of my chest, I let myself turn slowly, expecting the first signs of life to just be another ball bouncing down the street or a self-moving reciept holder.  
  
His eyes were slightly panicked, his eyebrow barely lifted, his hands wringing themselves tightly into fists on the dirty white apron wrapped around his waist. A small black book stuck out of one of the pockets, the pen behind his ear. A tangle of blonde hair fell across his face and with a flick of his head, they covered his startling eyes easily like a curtain. Before I could ask one question, he grabbed my wrist tightly and tucked me towards the gray doors.  
  
"I'll get fired, you idiot, if they find out I wasn't paying attention to the customers." His voice was small and distant, fading with each word spoken out of his chapped and bloodied lips. He finally moved behind me and placed both of his hands on my back, preparing himself to shove me out. Anger seeped into his voice, "How old are you?"  
  
I hit the gray doors when he pushed me, not exactly having anything to hold onto as I slid across its surface and fell through to the other side, landing on the floor with a soft grunt. Peals of laughter filled the once-silent room, and I looked up, meeting the dead eyes of costumers at their tables and booths.  
  
Two women at the closest table pointed pale fingers at me, giggling like children even though they looked to be in their forties. The man with them was chuckling quietly, eyeing me like I was a kid about to do something potentially stupid.  
  
A daughter and her mother were politely trying to hide their laughter behind their hands as they watched me to see if I would do something else funny.   
  
Three teenagers let out harsh, loud bays of laughter as they starting cracking jokes and pretending to fall at the tabletops. One with dark red hair starting slapping at his thighs like I had commited the ultimate sin of humor.  
  
An elderly lady watched me from behind silver-framed glasses, scrunching her nose up and offering me a kind smile.  
  
"You okay, boy?"  
  
Sitting in the corner of the restaurant in one of the many red booths, was a teenager no older than myself, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he stared at me from behind a fall of rich brown hair. He brought his legs slowly up to prop themselves in the seat across from him, his eyes staying glued to where I lay on the floor. His thin fingers took the cancer stick away from his curved lips, a puff of gray smoke pillowing out in front of his face. Time seemed to slow down considerably right there as the smoke passed his face and I watched him watching me through the curtain.  
  
Two hands grabbed my jacket and yanked me to my feet. The blonde boy snarled at me, grabbing a menu of the nearby counter and slamming it into my shoulder.  
  
"You're nothing but trouble! Get out before my boss sees!"  
  
I finally noticed what he was talking about; down by the floor were a couple of broken glasses that I must have snatched on my descent towards the clean tile. He swatted me one last time, and the laughter faded quickly to be replaced with silence yet again. I was about to turn and apologize when I saw the brown-haired youth in the corner shake his head and fade along with the laughter.  
  
The blonde boy was gone when I turned, and then the cheerful costumers were replaced by the broken tables and turned-over chairs. The lights flickered and died so quickly I jumped and almost let out a small yelp of surprise as darkness took over the diner once again.  
  
The lock screamed when it pushed away as the door started to close, and I found myself running to stop its slow journey. Overreacting in a room full of windows, I nearly screamed in triumpth as my hand stopped it a brief second before it would have slid closed.  
  
The reciept holder rattled and starting spinning again.  
  
When I looked back, I saw the papers starting to flutter against the movements, hints of black flashing in sight every few moments. The door became the least of my worries as I moved back across the room to manually stop the spinning object, waiting for the papers to settle down.  
  
"Welcome home." was written on all three.  
  
Dimly, the laughter floated back for a split second before dancing out of range again. Numbly, I moved to the door to leave. 


End file.
